


Sometimes the Void Looks Into You

by SelkieLost



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieLost/pseuds/SelkieLost
Summary: An old work I stumbled across and added to at obscene hours of the night. Enjoy. (Caution: SPOILERS)





	Sometimes the Void Looks Into You

**Author's Note:**

> Look! Spoilers everywhere!
> 
> This is unbetta'd, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Con-crit and reviews are love!

_You are the princess, and the unimpressive daughter to a Hero. Start your day late and wishing for more sleep. Sen yawns next to you as Jasper pulls back the covers. The room is cold against your sleep-warmed skin. You shiver as Jasper recommends clothing for you to wear, but Sen is warm at your side._

_You choose the impractical long skirts and frilly bodice expected of a noblewoman because it makes Elliot smile. You like seeing Elliot smile because it distracts you from that empty stillness in your chest, right around where you think your heart should be. Walter will frown when he sees your clothes and ask how you expect to swing a sword with that much cloth holding you down, but he will understand why even as he grumbles._

_You blink as the cream linen of the gown settles around your body. Jasper says something about how beautiful you look. He always does, because that is what butlers do, even though you know he is lying. You’re too plain for a princess; just ask any of the noblewomen who laugh as they curtsy to you in your fine gowns. You suddenly wish that you had chosen breeches like you normally do, not bothering to dress for a part you are not suited for._

_Sen whines and scratches at the door._

_Try to ignore the disapproving look Jasper levels at you as you follow Sen outside, off to find Elliot. You know that Jasper doesn’t like Elliot, a fact that the sweet young man remains blissfully unaware of, but you don’t understand why. Any time you try to ask him, Jasper simply smiles and tells you that you are mistaken, that he has no dislike for Master Elliot._

_But you know what Jasper looks like when he dislikes something. You know because his face stops moving in an effort to hide it._

_His face goes still each time your brother lowers the working age, or raises the taxes._

_His face goes still every time he finds you trying to pick a lock._

_His face goes still when the cook adds asparagus to his dinner._

_His face goes still whenever Elliot is mentioned and he won’t tell you why._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`_

_As always, there are few private spots in the courtyard garden for Elliot to be secluding himself. Nobles dressed in brilliant clothing float along like butterflies, fluttering around you as you run past. The worn castle servants bow to you, soldiers clicking their heels as they salute you. The attention makes you uncomfortable. You have done nothing to deserve it, even being born had not been your idea._

_Sen barks when he sees Elliot, tail wagging madly as Elliot kneels down and praises him. Sen loves everyone, even smarmy Reaver, but it had taken him a long time to accept Elliot. Elliot used to laugh and say that Sen was just jealous. You would laugh too, but inside you were still uneasy._

_Sen has never been jealous before. But Sen loves everyone, and eventually he started greeting Elliot with the same enthusiasm he greets anyone else._

_Elliot’s attention turns from Sen to you, and you feel a blush heat your face, but the banter is still as easy as ever._

_You know he wants to kiss you, but you wrap your arms around him and press your face against his neck instead. There is a hesitation before he returns the hug. It can’t happen here, where anyone can see and report back to Logan. Especially not when Jasper had warned her away from her brother. That only ever happens when Logan is not himself, which is happening more and more often these days._

_You try to stay away from Logan, try to heed Jasper’s warning of his foul mood, but the day pulls you together._

_/`/`/`/`/`_

_Your little speech to the staff goes well, the servants you’ve known since you were a child now looking at you like they’ve never seen you before, curtsying and bowing like you’re an actual princess, not the little girl who’d stolen cakes when you thought no one was watching._

_You’re not sure if you like that._

_You follow Walter towards the audience room, still trying to figure out the squiggly feeling in your stomach, when a man stops Walter on your way by. You don’t really pay attention to what they’re saying, but you catch the words ‘Logan’ and ‘petition’ and you have to stop the incredulousness that wants to claw its way free._

_Trying to force Logan into anything never ends well._

_“You should talk to the princess,” Walter is saying, and you hate him a little bit right now, because the man who’d waylaid Walter is turning to you and holding out the paper like it’s actually going to make a difference._

_“I will not sign.”_

_The man’s face falls faster than his head will, if he takes this to Logan in any mood, let alone a bad one. You almost tell the man he’s a moron for thinking a piece of paper will mean anything, to crush his hope under your boot heel so that he leaves here alive and never tries this again. You stop yourself before you open your mouth. Walter looks at you, a frown creasing his face even as he nods slightly. The reminder that you have an ally helps to ease the dread that’s been making you twitchy since Elliot left._

_Walter is making excuses for you, soothing the man’s hurt and mending the image of kind Princess Wren. It’s something that you should be doing yourself, except you can barely breathe now, anxiety starting to make you feel sick as you turn away from the crowd. The stairs stretch on for miles, and the doors to the audience chamber looms like a gaping maw ready to swallow you whole._

_Clairvoyance is yet another talent you do not have, but you know, with a certainty that does nothing to alleviate the worry currently making your heart race, that nothing good will come from what happens next. You hope that Logan will be safe, because he is your brother and you still love him, no matter how much of a prick he has turned into._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`_

_Logan doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping lately, his eyes shadowed and sunken into a face that you don’t remember looking so worn. He looks like he’s aging in years instead of days. You have to stop yourself from reaching for his hand and asking if he’s all right._

_Right now, he’s the King instead of your brother, and a King can never show weakness in front of his subjects._

_Not even for you._

_The protestors are quivering in front of him and Logan is telling you to choose who dies._

_Elliot or the people you were trying to protect._

_You go very still inside and time seems to move molasses-slow around you._

_Your brother stares you down, his dark eyes flat and cold. You can’t see any trace of the boy who had taught you how to hold a sword, who had written so much awful poetry, who had cried like a babe at your parents’ funeral while you had been so numb you hadn’t been able to shed a tear._

_Your brother would have never made you do this._

_For the first time, you see the cruelty in him and it terrifies you._

_Elliot is telling you to sacrifice him, one life for many. He’ll take the martyrdom. You hesitate so long that Logan almost makes the decision for you, stopping when you finally make your sacrifice. The words take effort to get out, giving Logan what he wants._

_Time speeds up again, but now it’s going too fast and you’re the one caught like a fly in amber. You are very still, just like Logan._

_You wonder if he feels like this too._

_People are screaming and whimpering and crying all around you, yet you feel nothing. Maybe Hero blood is just numbness and magic._

_Elliot is yelling for you to change your mind, that it should have been him, as the guards drag him away from you. He is angry that you didn’t choose him. Confusion fills your head, fogging your mind so all you can do is stare dumbly as Elliot reaches for you. It could never have been Elliot. How could you have killed him?_

_You love him._

_You can’t kill him._

_He’s blaming you for that._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

_Jasper is telling you there is nothing else you could have done and you are shaking as you fight not to scream, gripping the windowsill in front of you because if you don’t, you will shake yourself to pieces. All you can see are Logan’s emotionless eyes and Elliot being dragged away, and all you can hear is gunshots and screaming._

_So much pain, and suffering, and fear._

_It’s your fault._

_The door slams open and Walter drags you and Sen and Jasper out into the rain and away from the only home you’ve ever known. He doesn’t explain where you’re going or what his plans are, but you follow him without a question because he’s Walter. He’s the only father you’ve ever really known, so you trust him and follow him out into the darkness and your mother’s tomb, even though you don’t believe that Logan would try to kill you. You still can’t believe that of him, even though you’ve seen his cruelty firsthand now._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_You decide you do not trust the woman with the big hood that hides blind eyes, but that’s okay because you get the feeling she doesn’t trust you either._

_The Dwellers trust you though, the crazy little man that leads them grasping your freezing hands in his warm ones as you promise to be better than your brother._

_You’re not sure you can keep that promise._

_Logan has always been the better sibling. You sneak away from Walter as he has a farewell drink with new friends, and make your way to Sabine’s circle of caravans. The old man is sitting at a worn table, a map spread across the pitted surface. He looks up when you enter, his eyes crinkling at the edges when he sees you, the rest of his smile lost in his impressive mustache._

_“Hello, girl. What can I do for you?”_

_“I-” You hesitate at the sound of your voice, suddenly realizing all that can go wrong with this plan. “I-”_

_“You’re all right, child,” Sabine says. His voice is quieter, gentler, than you’ve come to expect from him. “I shan’t bite you. Sit down there and have some tea.”_

_You sit where the old Dweller indicates, while he pours a new mug of tea for you._

_“I don’t know if I can do this.” You blurt it out all at once as Sabine slides the mug across to you, your fingers gripping the edge of the stool so hard your knuckles turn white._

_The old man doesn’t say anything for a long time, turning his chair so it faces towards you and settling in it before he speaks._

_“And what makes you think that?” His black eyes gleam in the dim caravan light._

_“Logan is my brother, sir. My older brother.”_

_“You’ve yet to say anything to convince me that you’ll fail us.”_

_“He was trained for this, to be a ruler, to lead armies. I was the back up that no one expected to need, the diplomatic marriage waiting to happen.”_

_“So? Walter will teach you what he can, and so will I and all the other allies you collect along your road to rule. Then you will be queen, and you will learn things we can’t teach you all on your own.”_

_“Logan is my brother,” you say again, before stopping to find words that sound better than ‘I won’t kill my own brother just to save my own skin, you old hobbe.’_

_Diplomacy never was your strong suit, but you’ve learned to try._

_Sabine just stares at you until you get to the point, smiling like he knows what you are trying to rephrase. You think maybe he is waiting because he knows you don’t have Logan’s silver tongue, that it is harder for you to twist the truth to your own ends. You think maybe there’s a bit of respect in his eyes, hiding behind a twinkle of amusement, while he waits the few beats until you’ve found the right words._

_“I won’t kill him. At the end of this, if I win, I won’t kill him. Even after all he’s done, he is still my brother.”_

_Sabine shrugs, and drinks some of his own tea._

_“I wouldn’t expect you to, girl. You don’t have that in you, I don’t think.”_

_You’re trying to figure out if that’s a backhanded insult or compliment when Walter finds you and drags you off with promises of allies and very little else. He doesn’t warn you about the swamp known at Mourningwood, or the dead men that rise up and try to force you into their ranks._

_He doesn’t tell you about the fort, the distinguished Major Swift, or Captain Ben Finn, whose hand lingers, warm and intoxicating, at the small of your back as he and a heavily bandaged officer teach you to fire a mortar._

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

When Ben first meets the princess, Wren, he barely notices her. He loses more than a little bit of hope for the rebellion when he sees the scared-looking woman they’ve all pinned their hopes on. She doesn’t have her brother’s presence, and she’s not beautiful enough to make up for that. No one will turn when she enters a room, not with her shoulders slumped like she’s already beaten. She’s dressed in Dweller gear, minus bandanna, and the thick clothing on her slight frame makes it seem like she’s a child wearing her parents’ clothes. The fact that one of the princess’s hands won’t stop twisting nervously in the ruff of the black and white beast beside her doesn’t help that image. She wears her thick red hair cut short, in ragged strands that tangle wildly around her head like the crown she aims to gain. Ben wonders if that’s the newest style in Bowerstone these days, to have hair that looks like it was done by a hobbe.

With a dull knife.

In the dark.

Her ghostly grey eyes are lifeless, confused, and he wonders if she’d taken a knock to the skull somewhere between the castle and Mourningwood.

Like, maybe she’d died and Walter’d had her resurrected so they still had a figurehead for the rebellion against Logan and a chance to free Albion from his grasp.

When Walter tells them that the girl is a capital- _h_ -Hero, Ben almost laughs in the old soldier’s face. She looks like she’d scream and piss her pants if he yelled _boo_. Fighting Hollow Men and Mercenaries and Royal Guards and whatever else Albion can throw at her?

Hilarious.

Still, she seems nice enough, given who her brother is, and she learns fast when he and Jammy teach her how to use the mortar. Ben had expected a half-arsed attempt at firing before giving up with a royal tantrum, but he learns that she settles with her hand on a weapon, deadly focus sparking in her eyes. The dying sunlight catches strands of gold and mahogany in her hair, and, when she turns to look at him with that spark of life in her eyes, a scowl on her pale face, Ben can finally believe in the woman who would be Queen of Albion. This is a woman who could turn the heads of a kingdom and keep their attention long after the effect of her beauty faded.

Even if she had to mortar them to do it.

She learns fast and he’s beginning to worry about his record when Jammy sounds the warning. Ben knows the princess is a Hero, but that doesn’t stop him from turning and trying to order her to safety.

Trying to, because she’s already gone, jumping into the courtyard below as Hollow Men flood the fort and Ben can’t spare another thought on the princess’s safety. He’s too focused on his own.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

Simmons had been a big bastard in life, and that hadn’t been changed by his mutinous resurrection. The only reason any of them survive is because of the princess, launching herself over Walter’s unconscious form. Ben’s barely on his feet by the time it’s over, the evening sunlight washing everything bloody-red as Wren falls to one knee in the slime Simmons had exploded into. Ben wobbles over to where the princess is forcing herself to her feet, sheathing her sword as she does so. He can see her hands shake as they fall to her sides, her left hand unconsciously reaching for her dog who is currently on the other end of the courtyard gnawing on something disgusting. Walter laughs at the victory and thumps her on the shoulder, and Wren damn near falls over at the force of his enthusiasm.

She stumbles a bit, trying to catch her balance, but her foot catches on the ground and she falls over the dog that has snuck up at her side. No one is looking as she starts to fall, no one except for Ben, who hasn’t been able to stop staring at her since the battle ended. He lunges forward in time to catch her, steadies her until she gets her feet back. She gasps at the contact, shuddering under his touch. That empty, confused look is back in her ghost-grey eyes, and he doesn’t let his hands linger longer than the time it takes for her to stand on her own feet.

The princess smiles at him and mutters a quick thank you, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes and her voice sounds tired to him. Ben frowns, but Wren is already walking away, leaving nothing to explain.

 

The impending darkness forces Walter and the princess to stay the night, causing a general lift in the morale of the fort. They’d lost enough men to make two extra bodies welcome, even for the night. Walter had seemed a little irritated by the delay, but he cheered quickly when Swiftie clapped him on the back and steered him off to talk about the good old days, promising a bottle of fine scotch to soothe the passage of time.

The princess hadn’t reacted at all, wandering off shortly after and leaving Walter to his reminiscences, her dog bounding on ahead. Ben debates for a good while before deciding to track her down, wondering if a chance to spar will bring life back to her eyes.

It’ll be a good anecdote for his book, at the very least.

Ben looks over to where Walter and Major Swift have their heads bent over a map, as close to a fire as possible without the paper catching fire, their voices hushed as they argue about something Ben can’t quite make out. His head aches from where Simmons’ had backhanded him. He’s still pissed that he’d been unconscious through most of the fight between the hulking Hollow Man and the waif of a Hero, although he’d fought beside her long enough to already know it must have been spectacular. He climbs the stairs to the rampart, imagining the battle as he climbs the worn stairs. Something cold and wet shoves itself into his palm, and he jumps before his brain finishes the realization that it’s only the princess’s dog.

The rampart stretches before him, moonlight shining brightly enough that he can see Wren standing by the mortar, looking out over the shell-pitted fields.

The dog chuffs softly and trots off to sit by where his mistress leans against the weather-pitted stone of the wall. Wren jumps when the dog leans against her, jumps again when she notices Ben striding towards her. Notices when he stops a few feet away.

“Hope you weren’t planning on setting that thing off tonight, princess,” Ben says, smirking a little to take the edge out of the statement. “Might wake a few men.”

“N-no. I mean…I wasn’t going to set it off. I just, um…” Her voice trails off, eyes following a moth as it flies past. Again, Ben wonders if she’d taken a hard knock to the head, or perhaps a bit of brain fever. The princess blinks and shakes herself, like she’s just realized he’s still there. He watches her realize she’s forgotten what they’re talking about.

“Why are you up here, Captain?”

“Well, princess. I think your actions today deserve a celebratory drink. I’ll see if I can go liberate a bottle from old Swiftie.”

“Oh, I already did,” the princess says, eyes wide and innocent as she pulls a bottle out from behind the mortar.

“Princess, this is the start of a beautiful friendship. I can tell already.”

She solemnly toasts his statement with the bottle and grins. It’s the first time he’s seen her really smile, and it’s over too soon.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_It hasn’t been very long since you’d left the castle, but you’ve changed. You feel it even more as you help the people of Bowerstone, currently a woman named Linda with a missing fiancée. The kidnappers irritate you, overly cocky and mean. They die easily enough._

_You have changed so much._

_Elliot hasn’t._

_The second you lay your eyes on Linda’s husband-to-be, you’re glad for all that numbing ice inside you._

_It’s when you kill the first hobbe that he says you’re not the woman he’d fallen in love with._

_He’s right._

_You’re not._

_You are new and different now, shattered and remade in a whole new way. You’re harder now, embracing the ice because that’s the only way you were going to survive._

_The first group of hobbes is slaughtered and Elliot is being sick against the scaffolding._

_You don’t remember him being so small._

_Then, when he pulls you aside and tells you he’d leave such a selfless woman for you, you wonder when Linda came into Elliot’s life, how long he waited after you “disappeared”. You can’t ask him, can’t move, can only stand frozen until Elliot moves for you._

_He goes through the door without a backward glance and tells Linda she’s it for him._

_He loves her more than he used to love you._

_You can tell._

_Did he ever love you?_

_You leave and neither of them notices._

_You’re crying by the time you reach the street and it’s not because your heart is breaking, but because it isn’t. All that coldness inside you goes from numbing to painful, your insides writhing as you wrap your arms around yourself like that’s going to hold all your little pieces together._

_Benfinn finds you later, hiding under a bridge in Bowerstone Old Quarter and staring into the river, your bare feet barely skimming the water’s surface. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, but it had started raining at some point and his blonde hair is plastered to his head._

_Sen doesn’t even bark, just shoves his nose into the man’s hand, demanding attention._

_He likes Benfinn._

_You can tell._

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

Ben’s been drinking a wee bit tonight, trying to keep up with both Swiftie and Walter.

When he stumbles under a bridge to get out of the rain, it’s pure coincidence that has an overly-enthusiastic dog and a morose princess there already. Sen bounds over to Ben while the princess turns her head to look at him.

“You are soaked, Benfinn.”

He staggers forward, plopping down beside her at the water’s edge. Wren’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I suppose I am,” he says, smile easy on his face as he leans back, “What’s the matter with you, princess?”

“Nothing.” The smile flickers for a second, but stays strong.

“Okay then, so nothing’s wrong.”

“Correct.”

“So why aren’t you smilin’?”

“I am smiling.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You were drinking with Walter earlier, weren’t you.” It’s not a question and that makes him laugh a little.

“’Course.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” Maybe. Maybe very.

“You forget I grew up around Walter, Benfinn.”

“What’re you sayin’, princess?”

She shrugs and looks back at the water below her feet. She’s not wearing her boots.

“I’m not saying anything, Benfinn.”

“You could just call me Ben, you know.” He kind of hopes she doesn’t. It’s odd, but he sort of likes the way she says his name, all mashed into one.

“Yeah, well… I’m sorry.”

“Why apologize?”

She shrugs, “I’m supposed to.”

He’s got no comeback to that and, for a change, says nothing. He simply produces a stolen bottle of whatever Swift and Walter had been about to start in on when he left.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Well…yes. But I’m a gentleman, so I wasn’t going to mention it.”

Wren laughs half-heartedly.

“You’ve gotta come away from the edge though.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’ll fall in. I’m not near so attractive when I’m drowned.”

“And you’d know?”

“You’ll have to find that chapter!”

Wren rolls her eyes at his sing-song tone, but stands up anyway. There isn’t much available for seating, so they settle on a solitary crate, pressed together with their backs against the brick of the bridge sheltering them as they pass the bottle between them.

“So what’s got you so twisted up?”

He must be drunk, to be asking such personal questions of the (hopefully) future monarch. Ben promises himself that he will never drink again as Wren hands him back the bottle and he washes the foul taste of that promise away.

“How much do you know about me?”

The question comes out of nowhere and Ben squints at her. Wren doesn’t look at him, focusing instead on the rain sheeting off the bridge above them.

“About as much as anyone else, I suppose. Your mother was a Hero, and your brother’s a tyrant.” He doesn’t tell her the more lewd rumors he’s heard in the gutters.

“That’s all?” She turns to look at him now, eyes focusing hard on his face like she can see a lie before he even speaks it.

“I’ve heard that you had a friend.” He clears his throat, awkward for no reason his fuzzy mind can think of. “A male friend.”

“I’ve heard the rumors too, Benfinn. You don’t have to blush for my maidenly sensibilities.”

He does anyway, heat spreading down his neck.

“A month, and he’s already engaged. He didn’t even wait until I was out of the room before he was telling her he loved her.”

“Sounds like a tosser.”

“And before he opened the door to that room, he said he’d come back to me if I asked.”

Ben doesn’t want to ask her why she hadn’t taken the idiot man up on that offer if he’d meant so much to her, but the words drag themselves out anyway.

“He wants someone soft,” Wren says, shrugging, “I’m not what he wants anymore.”

She doesn’t look sad as she says it, just tired.

Ben scoots closer to her, presses his shoulder against hers. She takes the offer and leans against him, head on his shoulder, sighing.

“Maybe I should just marry Logan like all the counselors wanted.”

Ben’s getting a bit more used to the princess’s odd sense of humor, and the statement startles a laugh out of him. They lean against each other, laughing harder than they would have if they were sober.

The kiss takes them both by surprise.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_Since your Hero blood awakened you’ve been feeling like a stranger in your own body, not entirely in control of your own movement, but when Benfinn kisses you it’s different. You’re not a spectator to your own life, not when your fingers thread through his hair, not when you pull him closer to meet his tongue with yours. He pulls you into his lap, hot and hard against your core, his hands rough with calluses that make you shudder as he maps the skin of your back. He holds you tight, like he’s afraid you’re going to vanish like a ghost._

_Elliot had only kissed you like this once, almost a month before this whole thing started, and it had left you feeling hollow. Like you’d lost something._

_Even through the clumsiness, and the alcohol, and the alcohol-related clumsiness, kissing Benfinn is like finding what you’d lost with Elliot, fire heating your core and your blood and making you gasp at the joy of it. Then it’s over and Benfinn is moving away. You start to reach for him, confused, and stop yourself. His chest is heaving from what you has, but he still steps back, away from you, palms out and eyes wide like you are threatening him with a blade. You’ve seen that look before, on scared mercenaries after you’ve slaughtered their whole crew. You let your hand drop._

_You watch him back away from you and don’t move. The fire dies down, banking itself to embers that spark and die in the cold. You force down a shiver as the numbness comes back, and look back over the shit-filled river. You pretend you felt nothing and it was just the fiery spirits Benfinn had brought and it’s harder than it should be, but you manage it because you are good at feeling nothing._

_You murmur a reply when Benfinn excuses himself for the night, but you don’t look at him as he walks away._

_You stand there and stare at the moon through the factory smog until your neck hurts, then you stand there some more and wish your life was boring again. You wish as hard as you can, clenching your eyes shut so tight that bursts of color shock the darkness behind the lids, but when you open your eyes, you are not back in your rooms at the castle, life is no longer simple, and you can still feel Benfinn’s lips on yours, and his hands pushing you back._

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_You feel sick inside, knowing that all of the pieces are finally on the board to take down your brother. Your big brother, the only family you have left and the one who made you choose between many strangers and a single man._

_Panic clamps your throat shut and you fall to your knees, gagging and coughing. The rebellion is expecting you, to come and lead them to victory and what they expect you to do for justice._

_Instead you run home, to the caravan that still smells like Sparrow’s lilac perfume if you close your eyes and focus hard enough. You go home to your lonely little island and you strip down to nothing before swimming out until you can no longer see land and the Tattered Spire rises out of the distance._

_If you swim that far, no one will ever find you again. You won’t have to worry about anything but the ghosts that haunt the cursed tower that had almost broken your mother. Instead you float in ink black water and stare up at the moon._

_You’re not sure how long you’ve been in Driftwood, hiding from all the things you keep telling yourself not to think of._

_Don’t think about how kissing him is like playing with fire, all heat and adrenaline and demanding every iota of your attention._

_Don’t think about Major Swift’s handsome face torn and bruised._

_Don’t think about how a bullet had punched a hole through his brain._

_Don’t think about holding Benfinn back from his death, don’t think about the betrayal and hatred on his face when he looked at you afterwards._

_Don’t think about the fact that you’re hiding in Driftwood, in your mother’s childhood caravan, because that’s the last place anyone will look for you._

_You never were very good at listening to yourself._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

_You can’t do this. You can’t be a Hero. You are not your mother, no matter how hard you try._

_Except, when Walter comes and tells you it’s time to go, you get up and follow him like you always do. Benfinn is waiting with Page, both impatient, but only Page looks at you. That might have hurt, but you’re too numb inside to feel it if it does. You’re a little bit afraid of what lurks under that numbness, wondering if your rage will loose a storm of Will and destroy you all. You wonder if the cruelty you’d seen in Logan runs in your blood too, just waiting for the right time to come out._

_You hold your breath when Benfinn brushes past you without a word, but nothing happens._

_Not even a shiver of ice._

_You are a little bit disappointed._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

_Four days into the journey, you are sitting with your legs over the side of the ship, reading a book the captain had lent you while your feet dangle into nothingness, when Benfinn saunters up beside you. If he actually talks, this will be the first time he has spoken to you since Walter hauled you back._

_“I’m sorry. For how I’ve been acting since… For not… ”_

_You almost take pity on him, if only because he tried to apologize, and then he says “it was stupid anyway, it didn’t mean anything”._

_“What was stupid?” You ask, even though you already know._

_“The…uh. The kiss. With you.” He mutters, looking everywhere but at you, “I’d… been drinking and… it was…inappropriate amd…”_

_He trails off like he doesn’t know where to go from there, and you tell him to leave you alone._

_Benfinn flinches like you’ve slapped him, and there is a vicious glee that makes you smile. It feels like the smile you’d last seen on Logan’s face, as he made you choose between your people and your lover._

_You’d chosen poorly, all for something that didn’t exist in the world._

_You should have sided with neither, sided with your brother instead. You’re starting to revel in the madness he is infecting the world with._

_“Can I just-?”_

_“No.”_

_“Wren-“_

_“Captain Finn, you will walk the fuck away.”_

_You hear him breathe in like he’s going to keep trying, but whatever sweet words he had planned die at the sight of fire leaking from your palms._

_He walks the fuck away, but the book is already ashes._

_/`/`/`/`/`/_

_You wash up on a foreign beach, Sen licking your face and whining. Salt glazes your skin and clothes, flaking away like snow when you sit up. Walter is walking towards you, but there is no Benfinn with him. Walter tries to reassure you with transparent lies that you believe anyway, because the alternative is that Benfinn is dead, and that is not a possibility. You pray to whatever god is listening, promise all the power at your fingertips, just for one more chance to see that idiot again._

_/`/`/`/`/`/_

_The darkness is alive like you always knew it was, twisting inside you as it fills the empty space in your chest and soaks into the ice at the marrow of your bones. You finally realize why Logan can’t sleep without his room filled with burning candles, why he has been looking so haunted since he came back from this hellish place._

_A slithering voice winds its way into your head until the hideous whispers are all you can hear. Shadows swarm around you, becoming solid enough to hurt you. Your sword cuts them down easily enough, the moonlight-glow of the blade leaving pale traces of light in the surrounding darkness._

_Walter is blinded and you half-drag him out into the sun. You leave him when you have to, because if you don’t you will die. Walter told you to do him proud, but you won’t be able to because you’re going to die here too._

_The sun shines blinding-bright overhead, but not even all that light can burn away all the breathing darkness that has made a home inside you._

 

/`/`/`/`/`/`/

 

_An unfamiliar face looks down at you, then a familiar one. Benfinn is complaining about royalty and if you weren’t dying, you’d have a hard time deciding to punch him or kiss him._

_Then you’re not dying, but you can’t focus when there’s still that cloying darkness whispering so loud in your head._

_Kalin sends you out into the destroyed town to see what your brother’s broken vows have done and you almost run down the steps._

_‘Why Logan? Why didn’t you tell me?’_

_That’s what you ask yourself as you see the devastation around you, but you already know the answer._

_You wouldn’t have told your brother about this place and its nightmares if you’d come here instead of him. You wish you had, if only to spare him the shadows whispering in his brain._

_A man stands next to a shrine, pulling your attention away from the terror that’s being trying to turn you into a gibbering wreck. He’s the only living soul you’ve seen since coming down the steps, and he turns to you when you approach._

_His wife and child are dead, he tells you. He does not fear joining them._

_His eyes are dry when he walks away, but yours are not. You can’t stop crying, can’t stop the helpless, desolate feeling that feels like it’s drowning you, because this is what your future is._

_Even if you take the throne from Logan, how are you going to stop the Crawler?_

_Somewhere deep inside, you can feel dry, hissing laughter._

_The night is suddenly so much colder._

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

The princess is dry-eyed when she comes back, but her eyes are rimmed in red and Ben can’t miss the way her fingers nervously twist themselves into Sen’s thick ruff, while her other arm wraps around herself. Her shoulders are hunched and Wren looks exhausted and beaten in a way she hasn’t since he’d first met her at Mourningwood Fort. Kalin nods approvingly and speaks of loss, leading the way up the stairs to the temple, letting the two foreigners follow at their own pace.

“Are you alright?” he asks, quietly, because calling attention to weakness in a future monarch is not the wisest move before a rebellion.

Wren looks at him, mouth pressed into a thin line, stormy eyes taking in everything she sees and giving nothing back.

“I am fine, Captain Finn, but Kalin is waiting. We should hurry.” Her tone is even and neutral and she doesn’t look at him. He’s never cared quite so much about that before, he shouldn’t care, after throwing her trust and pain back in her face. His hand is on her shoulder before he can stop himself, and Wren pauses, looking back at him and finally making eye contact.

For the first time since meeting her, he can’t tell what she’s thinking.

She’s shaking under his hand, the bones of her shoulder stark and sharp against his palm, even through layers of clothing and skin. She’s not fine, but when he tries to push the subject, she tenses, even though nothing shows on her face. Her ice-grey eyes are darker than before, narrowing slightly as she knocks his hand away. Her warm red hair flares around her as she turns away, stalking up the stairs after Kalin.

Ben takes a minute to follow her, struggling with feelings he doesn’t want to understand as he wonders if what she and Walter faced in that cave has turned her into something that will rival her brother.

For the first time he wonders if all the rumors are true and Logan’s sister will be no better than the king himself.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

The return trip takes almost a week, Auroran ships making much better time than those of Ben’s homeland. He barely sees Wren for the first half of their trip, and the few glimpses he does seen of her worry him. Sen is always by her side, her fingers nervously seeking comfort from her steadiest of companions. The bags under her eyes grow darker every day, and the lines of her face grow starker.

Then Walter comes looking for him a little over three days into their return trip, asking him to find Wren, and Ben almost sighs in relief for a reason to seek her out.

He handled that kiss badly, and he knows it. Hadn’t even been able to properly say that in his failed apology. He’d spent the whole time in Aurora determinedly not thinking of anything but finding her and sitting her down to talk, but she’s very good at avoiding things that she doesn’t want to face, and right now that apparently means him. He finally finds her hidden in the shadow of a crate, her face tilted toward the darkening sky, but eyes seeing nothing. She doesn’t even blink when he shakes her gently, cold seeming to radiate from her instead of heat.

“You’re freezing!” Ben exclaims, pulling off his own overcoat to throw around her shoulders. Wren doesn’t react, only stares out into the distance.

The sun has turned the sky bloody red by the time Wren shudders next to him, ghost-grey eyes blinking like she’s just woken up. She begins to shiver, pulling the coat closer around herself like she’s only just noticed it was there. He loops an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. Wren rests her head against him, but still doesn’t speak. Ben doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press her to talk, just holds her until she stops shaking. He presses a kiss against her hair, catching her familiar scent of smoke and mint under the smell of salt and ozone that seems to cover everything these days.

 

It’s full dark by the time she stops shivering, and presses her face more firmly against his chest. Ben jumps when she finally speaks.

“I don’t want to be Queen, Benfinn.” He can feel her lips shaping the words against his shirt, her voice is soft, almost lost to the surf. The loss of the formal Captain Finn she’s been using doesn’t go unnoticed, but he’s too worried to be relieved at that small sign of forgiveness.

Ben wants to say she doesn’t have to, that someone else can take her place, but she’s a Hero and heir to the throne, but he knows he can’t. She’s their only chance at removing Logan and setting things right, and they all know it. She knows it, like she’d know the words for the blatant lie they would be, so he takes her hand instead of saying anything, hoping that the contact will be enough.

She doesn’t comment when he tangles his fingers with hers, but she doesn’t have to.

The tightness of her grip says it all.

When he kisses her this time, it’s hesitant, like he’s waiting for her to push him away this time. His hands are hesitant too, ghosting down her sides until his hands rest gently on her hips. It isn’t until she presses herself more firmly against him that all that caution breaks. His hands flex over her hips, tightening their grip on her as he pulls her closer to him, fingers digging hard into her skin.

She moans against his mouth and then jerks away like she’s been burned, holding her head and moaning again, pained instead of pleasured this time.

“Wren?”

She falls to her knees, slaps at his hands when he tries to steady her.

“Go, please. Tell Walter where I am.”

Ben hesitates and she screams at him to go. He does, and hates himself for leaving her alone in the dark.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_Start your day like this:_

_Darken eyebrows that have lightened to near-invisibility._

_Lighten the dark circles under your eyes until you no longer look like Logan, the brother you still love even though everyone else in Albion and Aurora would cheerfully knight his executioner._

_Cover the marks that crawl across your flesh and glow with a brilliance that attracts too much awe for you to ever be comfortable with._

_Then dress in your newest costume, complete with crown, and try not to crawl back into the clothes you won your kingdom in._

_A queen stalking into her throne room garbed in worn mercenary clothing would only remind the gentry how different she is to their standards._

_Now your life is once again ruled by ‘Do nots’._

_You’d forgotten how much you didn’t miss them._

_Do not scream at the angry mob of people clamoring for the death of their king._

_Do not cut them down where they stand when they yell their dissent for sparing your brother’s life._

_Do not cry when Logan’s eyes roll back in his head before he collapses at your feet after his hearing, exhaustion finally winning out against his formidable stubbornness._

_Do not set Hobson on fire for the disgusted, conniving look on his face when he finds you and Logan in bed together like children, both too scared to sleep alone in the dark._

_Do not despair at the endless march of rules and useless people._

_Do not stab Hobson when he makes the next vaguely treasonous and completely snide remark, no matter how much of a relief it would be to never have to hear the man’s prattle again._

_Do not threaten the decorators with Will-formed blades and fire._

_Do not plan your disappearance into the wilds beyond the reach of anyone who knows you are queen._

_Do not overtax the people who annoy you._

_Do not wonder where Benfinn is, if he’s as bored as you are, or if he’d complain if you drag him away for a little bit of balvarine hunting._

 

/`/`/`/`/`/`/

 

_Today is the day the Crawler attacks. Today is the day you murder your father. Today is the day that Benfinn finally understands how you’ve felt so many days of your life, unable to do anything as people die in front of you._

_Later, his hand is warm on your shoulder as you scream over Walter’s broken, bloody corpse, because there are no words to say that will ease this pain._

_You did this._

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

Ben watches as the darkness shoves itself down Walter’s throat, helpless to stop it and everything that follows. He beats his fists against the barrier when Wren stumbles, his cries desperate enough that the Crawler laughs, distracted long enough that Wren can regain her footing. That second of distraction is all she needs to end this.

Walter drops like a stone and Ben falls forward, the barrier no longer there to keep him out. Wren is glowing, blue-white brilliance pulsing under her skin, sparking in her tears as they fall onto Walter’s failing body.

It needed to be done, but Ben wishes with everything that he is and was and ever will be that Wren hadn’t been the one to do this. He wishes that he could have spared her that much, at least.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_Start your day like this:_

_The sunlight is weaker in Albion than Aurora, but it doesn’t matter because you haven’t seen it in days. Your chambers are darkened and you barely leave your place under the mountain of blankets heaped on the floor of the royal bedroom. You’ve grown too used to sleeping on cave floors, sleeping on a mattress feels like a bog that’s trying to suck you down._

_“You’ve always done me proud,” Walter says in your head, but his voice is all wrong, warped like it had been when the Crawler had been taunting you in that last battle. You can see blood twisting around the cobbles as Walter lies dying in your arms._

_You killed him._

_The kingdom celebrates while their Queen mourns._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

_Walter is gone, the statue of him is heroic and cold. You wish he were here now, to tell you what to do with yourself._

_Logan is gone, off adventuring. He looks healthier now, more like your brother. Being an overthrown king agrees with him._

_Benfinn is gone, off to see the world and flirt with pretty girls like Paige._

_Paige, who has retreated to her headquarters. She says come by anytime, but she really means only when she needs help. Not when you need help, because you are the Queen and she is Page and the two really can’t be friends, because even a benevolent monarch goes against everything Page stands for._

_Jasper stays in the Sanctuary, refusing each time you beg him to replace Hobson._

_Sen is the only one who stays, constantly at your side, worry written in the sleek lines of his body because he knows that when you finally sleep, you scream yourself awake, and when you eat, it usually comes right back up. You are killing yourself day by day and no one notices because they don’t want to. They are free from overtaxing and illiteracy and pollution. You were a good ruler, and you have already named your second cousin on your mother’s side as your heir apparent._

_There is no more use for a Hero queen, so she stays and suffers in the dark._

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

_“Your Majesty, you need to consider marriage.”_

_“No.” You are far too tired for this._

_“It would bolster the morale of your kingdom.”_

_“No.” It’s not like he’s going to wear you down, so why does he have to do this several times a day?_

_“You need heirs.”_

_“I’ve appointed them.”_

_“A marriage would be an excellent way to shore up relations with Aurora. I’m sure they have several lovely nobles who would love to…seal an alliance with you.”_

_“No.”_

_“Your Majesty, your continual refusal to even consider marriage has given birth to some very nasty rumors that may, in time, turn public opinion against you. A marriage would dispel them.” There’s a gleam in Hobson’s eye that you do not like._

_“What rumors?” You have a feeling you already know what rumors, and who exactly had started them._

_“I believe they are…ehm, about the rather…erm, shall we say… indelicate nature of your relationship with former king Logan.”_

_You’d been expecting this ever since the greedy, weasley little man had barged into your room and found you and Logan asleep in the same bed while enough candles to light a city burned around you. It had taken a lot longer than you’d expected for him to try to use it against you, and you refuse to tell him that you’re afraid of what lives in the darkness._

_“I will never marry, unless I choose to do so.”_

_“The gentry will not accept that.”_

_You are tired of this discussion, were tired of it the first time Hobson brought it up. You fight the urge to melt the gold around you and dip him in it, turn him into a golden statue as a warning to all others who sought to use you._

_Instead you tell him that you’ve made a decision. His eyes gleam with suspicion and greed as he leaves you to ready yourself for the announcement._

_You already know that you’re the only one who’s going to like it._

_/`/`/`/`/`/_

_The last time this room had seen so many people was the day of Logan’s sentencing, and they all fall silent when you heave the doors open. Your boots are whisper-quiet against the plush carpeting, the heavily embroidered royal garb slightly louder as buttons clink and fabric rustles against itself. Your hair falls wildly around your head in red-gold waves, curling at your neck and against your shoulders, while your heavy crown does its level best to keep the locks under control. The fury you had felt earlier has cooled, turning into something much more purposeful._

_You turn in front of the throne, but you do not sit. You have not come armed to this battle with steel, cutting off heads only gets you so far. Instead you will speak the truth and show your subjects a glimpse of all that cold anger inside you._

_“It has come to my attention that there is a consensus amongst Albion’s noble gentry regarding my status of matrimony. I am here today to address this.” You can hear gasping from the crowd, the men all greedily leaning forward, ready to exchange titles and wealth and whatever else they think they’ll get. You lift your chin and let your Will flare, azure lines flaring brightly across your skin as you glare down at your subjects._

_Many of them shrink away from you, a creature they don’t quite believe is tame._

_“I have fought for Albion. I have fought against my own brother and then again against living darkness to ensure her people’s safety. I won my kingdom and her people, just like my mother did before me. I have poured my own resources into the treasury, given all that I am to Albion and her people. I love these lands and will always look to rule them fairly, but do not mistake me. I will walk away from this kingdom in a heartbeat the second I am forced to chose between a kingdom and my own life. I will grieve over the ashes of Albion and move on, while you tear it apart with your USELESS PRATTLE!” Your anger flares, your voice growing to a roar. The stained glass windows rattle in their frames as you storm from the room._

_The gentry can go hang as far as you care. You’d never wanted the throne, and it has already cost you so much. You’d be glad to have it taken away from you._

_You know you’re sparking by the way Hobson’s face slicks with sweat even as his skin goes dead white, but you can’t bring herself to care, turning on your heel and storming off._

_Rage makes your tattoos flare and spark like an angry fire, and the thought of such a visible display of raw power makes you smile. A reminder that you are always the most powerful one in the room, and that all the power they believe they hold over you is imagined._

_/`/`/`/`/`/_

_Tonight you dream this: You are a child again, and so is Logan, his chubby fingers grabbing your wrist half a second before you fall down the entry stairs._

_“I’m you brother, I’ll always protect you.”_

_His hand is burning on your wrist, you look down to see flames licking up from his skin onto yours. You scream and slap at the flame. He laughs as you burn in front of him._

_The laugh sounds like the Crawler’s, right up until it turns into screaming that fills your bedchamber. You’re sitting up in bed, screaming like you’d wanted to so many times up until this moment. There’s no one to hear you, not since you’d moved the staff into the guard barracks as soon as it became apparent that the nightmares the Crawler left behind weren’t going away. You scream until Sen whines and presses against you. Then all you can do is cry and hold him. He is a loving dog, and licks the tears off her face until she’s laughing._

_Your brother knows the darkness, and he knows you. Logan will protect you from yourself. No one asks why your voice is so hoarse when you ask that your fastest ships and fleetest riders seek out your brother and bring him home._

_You don’t dare ask that Benfinn come back to you, even though you want to._

_You’re already a chapter in his book, bragged about and forgotten._

_You are alone._

_The Crawler laughs inside the empty place in your chest and there’s only one thing you can do._

_You scream._

 

/`/`/`/`/`/

 

It’s been almost three years since Ben had left Albion to explore the world, and barely anything has changed. He swings through Mourningwood to say hello to his old comrades and kill the ones that had disobeyed orders and come back. There’s a curious absence of Hollow Men around the fort and he thinks he can smell gun smoke, which is ridiculous because the fort has been abandoned since he and Swift had left. There’s a pain in his chest at the thought of the older man, but it’s fleeting. Grief wanes even when you don’t want it to.

He makes it to the old rebel headquarters by nightfall, in time to catch Page as she heads to the Riveter’s Rest. He buys the first round, she buys the second, and when he asks about the Queen, Page just shrugs.

“I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way through Mourningwood. She bought your old fort, you know,” she says with a tight smile, “The only time she leaves that creepy place is when Hobson sends one of the palace guard to drag her back. He’d given up for the most part, last I’d heard.”

“Why?”

“How should I know? She’s royalty. They’re all insane anyway,” Paige snaps, like she hadn’t fought beside the royal in question. Ben doesn’t push the subject, and they leave the quieting pub shortly before dawn. He staggers off with a slightly drunken wave at Page before he’s caught in a current of people, all heading to the castle. There are sleepy mutterings around him, talk of madness and possession that quiets when a faint scream echoes down a hallway. Ben waits for exclamations of surprise and fear, but the servants around him only flinch and shuffle toward the kitchens as a group. No one stops him when he pulls away from the group, running in the direction of the noise.

Ben bursts through a last highly-polished door and is confronted by the queen sitting bolt upright in a bed that probably costs more than he’ll ever make in this lifetime, or the next. Her fingers are tangled in her wild hair and she’s gasping loud enough that Ben can hear it from where he stands in the doorway, deep shuddering groans that occasionally choke into sobs. He waits for her to acknowledge him until it becomes apparent that she isn’t even aware he’s standing there. She doesn’t give any sign that she hears him when he calls her name, only really reacting when he sits down on the bed beside her.

Wren’s head jerks up, a panicked, hunted look on her gaunt face. There’s a smear of blood at her hairline, more blood caked under her fingernails. The queen blinks up at him, mouth opening slightly. The fist comes out of nowhere and knocks him a few feet away from the bed.

“What was that for?!” He yelps, running his tongue along his teeth to see if she’d loosened any.

“Benfinn?” She says when her eyes finally find and focus on his face. Her voice is rough, cracked, nothing at all like he remembers.

“Yeah, Wren.”

“You’re really here?” Wren sounds shocked, ghost-gray eyes wide as she stares at him.

“Of course I’m bloody here!” At least he knows she can still hit like a fucking sledgehammer.

“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry!” She by his side in a second, her hands prying his own away from his face. Cool fingertips stroke the already-bruising skin along his jaw. He closes his eyes tries not to flinch and fails. The fingertips fall away and there’s a thin, keening sound that sounds like it should have come from Sen. Ben opens his eyes. Wren looks wrecked, guilt and fear and exhaustion warring across her face as she rocks back and forth beside him, fingernails digging into her scalp.

Then she blinks, lets her hands and expression drop away from her face, and says “You deserved it.”

He can’t laugh, not when she looks like she’s just been dragged out of a madhouse.

“I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

Wren shrugs and looks away. Ben brushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You would’ve been bored. I’ve been bored, for certain.”

“So we’ll go do something tomorrow. I’ve heard there’s a white balverine over in Millfields.”

Wren focuses on him, “I’d heard that. I thought it was just a joke.”

“Nah, princess. I saw a flash of its hairy hindquarters on my way through.”

“You’ve also seen mermaids, Benfinn.”

“You calling me a liar?”

Wren blinks slowly at him, swaying a little.

“…’course.”

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get you bed. Can’t have you fall asleep hunting any kind of balverine.”

He picks them up off the floor, leaving Wren only long enough to strip out of his oilskin and coat. The long oilskin coat is left over from his time with the Swift Brigade and once it and the coat is thrown over a chair, he’s pulled off his boots and sprawled next to Wren on the massive bed, pulling her close.

She lets him.

It’s more comfortable than it should be, one of his hands stroking down her back and her head resting on his chest.

The bed is comfortable, too.

“So you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Ben asks, finally breaking the easy silence. Wren doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, and he peers down at her face. She’s sleeping, fingers clutching his shirtfront hard enough to bleach her knuckles even paler. Ben rubs his thumb across the stark-white joints until she relaxes her grip, but he doesn’t move away from her. It doesn’t take long before he falls asleep as well, his fingers tangled in hers.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

It’s been months since Ben had come back to Albion, months since the queen fell into an exhausted sleep on top of him, months since he moved his few belongings into the royal rooms. He’d expected to feel the beginnings of wanderlust creeping in the corners of his brain by now, but he’s oddly content staying beside Wren.

He wanders every so often, sometimes with Wren and sometimes without, traveling to Brightwall and Mourningwood, sometimes even visiting eccentric old Sabine and his Dwellers, but he always returns to the castle and Wren always looks surprised when he reappears at her door. Or throne room. Or treasury. Or wherever else he swaggers into on the castle grounds.

He always finds her.

She is always surprised.

“I’ll tell you if I’m planning to continue the book,” he tells her, teasing, each time she looks at him like he’s come back from the dead. “I won’t just disappear.”

She doesn’t believe him.

He can tell.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

He’s wandering back home to the rooms he shares with Wren, loaded down with gifts and food from the Dwellers, when Hobson damn near runs him over, muttering furiously to himself as he scuttles away without even a backwards glance at Ben.

“Hello to you too,” Ben growls after the infuriating man. He soon discovers the source of the man’s irritation. Wren isn’t in the castle; not in the gardens, not in the rooms, not in any of the usual nooks and crannies she likes to hide in. She is, in fact, huddled at the foot of her mother’s sarcophagus with Sen’s head resting on her foot. Neither of them move much when he enters the echoing chamber, Sen lifts his head to let out a soft woof at Ben, which makes Wren flinch.

Ben kneels beside her, wincing when a rock drives itself into his kneecap. He shifts a bit and brushes tangled red hair away from Wren’s face. Her eyes are dull when she looks at him. Something twists painfully in his chest.

She looks like she’s dying.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

Wren doesn’t say anything, just rests her head against the cold stone of her mother’s tomb. Ben wonders how long it’s been since she last slept.

“How long have you been down here?” He asks instead.

Wren shrugs and Ben just sighs, rocking back to sit on the cold stone of the floor. It’s not mid-winter-in-a-Dweller-Camp cold, but it’s not exactly warm either, and Wren’s only dressed in her overlarge nightshirt and boots. Ben hauls her over into his lap, Sen twisting so he can press his back into Ben’s shins. Wren shivers against him like she’s only just realized she’s cold, curling into his chest. He lets her, working his fingers through her hair as he tells her about his latest trip and the storm that had waylaid him. He doesn’t mention Sabine’s idea of bringing back the Queen’s Guard, even though he wants to. Looking at her like this, half out of her mind with exhaustion, he can see the need for a platoon of guards to surround her at all times.

He knows she would hate it more than she hates being Queen.

Just one guard would do. Sabine’s voice echoes in his head and he shakes it away. He’s never been able to stay in one place for too long, even as a boy he’d twitched and snarled until his father had finally given in and taken young Ben with him every time he went into town to trade.

Ben can’t stay in one place and the Queen can’t leave.

Pain twists in his chest again and he can feel a yawning emptiness open in his stomach.

His mind gropes for something to say, something, anything to get his mind off the way his body seems to be tearing itself apart from the inside out.

“Why are you down here, anyway?”

Smooth, Ben. Master of subtlety, that’s him.

Wren’s half asleep against him, and she stirs sleepily when he asks the question.

“’s th’only place th’ Crawler d’sn’t find me.”

And just like that, Ben gets it.

 

_/`/`/`/`/`/`/_

 

_Start your day like this: Benfinn’s arm is draped across your waist; his body hard and warm against your back. Sen has his paws shoved hard into your stomach, claws prickling against naked skin. Benfinn pulls you closer against him, his lips brush your ear. He says he loves you and you believe him._

_He smiles like the sun when you turn in his arms and tell him that._

_The Crawler’s shadows flinch away from the brilliance of that smile, and you smile because there’s sunlight in your blood, shimmering like your Will-stained tattoos._

_When you tell him you love him, the smile drops away._

_One big hand threads in your hair, calluses catching the brilliant red strands, and he kisses you like you’re the only thing that can keep him alive, and you kiss him back with all the words that you can’t say but he still seems to understand. His stubble scratches at your palm, and he moans when you suck at his throat. Your mouth leaves a dark mark on his skin, and you like that. He pushes inside you, rough hands trying to touch you everywhere at once, like he’s memorizing your skin and repainting all your scars as beautiful as he goes. He’s breaking you and remaking you, and all you can do is wrap your legs around those strong hips and bring you both higher and closer until neither of you can stand it anymore and explode into brilliance._

_He may not stay forever, but he’s staying for now, and that’s all you need._


End file.
